Captive (The Druid Chronicles Book 2)

by Christina Phillips

  The bedcovers lay twisted around her feet and shivers burned her exposed thighs and naked bottom. She wanted to strip him, have him rip her gown from her, but she couldn’t wait, couldn’t articulate her demands. Instead she gripped his tunic and jerked it up. She needed him now and there was no need for words, no need for endless foreplay. No need to analyze how or why she felt this way, because it was night and it was right and if she didn’t come, she would die.

  Roughened fingers traced over the curve of her hip and she flung her leg over his thigh to allow him unrestricted access. He followed her soundless cue, his hand delving between her legs, discovering her tender lips.

  She closed her eyes, and curled her hand around his scorching shaft. He groaned, or perhaps it was her, because never had she felt anything that promised so much.

  “You’re wet.” His voice rasped from the dark, disembodied. Erotic. She squirmed against his probing fingers, the pressure of his thumb against her swollen clit verging on the unbearable.

  Somehow she found her voice. “And you’re hard.” She accompanied her words by rolling her palm over his shaft, massaging his head, and thrills chased from her womb to her nipples at the moisture gathered there already.

  His mouth claimed hers, unerring despite the lack of light. Internal shudders ricocheted at the ferocity, the plunder, the sheer bestial dominance as his tongue invaded, demanding her utter surrender beneath his onslaught.

  Thudding pressure gained momentum low in her belly, echoing through her sensitized pussy. He was hot, unrelenting, his mouth devouring, and she returned every thrust of tongue, every graze of teeth.

  And still it wasn’t enough.

  A growl purred in the back of her throat and she slung her leg more securely over his thigh. He dragged his hand from her wet core and gripped her rounded buttock. She wound her free arm around his back, forcing him up from the mattress where he lay on his side.

  Her teeth sank into his bottom lip and he stilled. She bent her injured leg, ignoring the discomfort, and maneuvered until he raised his body sufficiently for her to slide her leg beneath him.

  She smiled against his trapped lip and then flicked her tongue over the abused flesh. Finally she relinquished her hold on his erection and wrapped both arms around him, gripping his firm arse, reveling in the sensation of having him between her spread thighs.

  His cock nudged her wet entrance and sparks of fire pulsed through her. Her palms molded his tight buttocks and explored his rigid muscles. Uninhibited shivers of delight raced through her as he kneed her thighs farther apart and she dug her nails into his flesh, savage and wild, needing him to crush her, to hold her, to claim her.

  Would she need to beg? Can I beg? Her lips parted, words hovered, and then he surged into her. Hot, hard and so shockingly large the air vaporized from her lungs in a startled gasp as long-unused muscles stretched to accommodate.

  A strangled groan tore from his throat and echoed through the darkness. Blindly she stared up at him, wanting to see his eyes, watch his face, but all she could see was a black silhouette against the pitch of night.

  For an endless moment he didn’t move. Jagged breath hissed through her teeth as she forced her tense muscles to relax. He filled her so utterly, as if any sudden movement might shatter her irretrievably. But gods, it felt so good. So right. To once again feel the hardness of a man embrace her. To relish the sensation of his cock inside her, groin to groin, her thighs cradling his, her fingers clawing the taut flesh of his lower back.

  He braced his weight on his elbows and pushed himself up. His hands entrapped her face, fingers splayed through her tangled hair, and the sensation of possessiveness was so erotic shivers chased over her skull and skittered along her sensitized nape.

  Only the sound of erratic breath and frenzied heartbeat filled the air. He could be anyone, anyone she chose, but it had been moons since she’d wanted Gawain, and her fantasies involving Aeron had long since withered.

  This was the Gaul who held her. The Gaul whose hand roughly molded the curves of her body before gripping her bottom. The Gaul whose rasping breath scorched her lips as he angled her to his complete satisfaction.

  His throbbing erection dragged with torturous delight across her clit, back and forth. Slowly. Deliberately. A mindless scream of pent-up passion boiled through her mind and sizzled through her blood. Back and forth. She clenched her internal muscles, squeezed him tight, and gasped in satisfaction at the primal growl that rumbled through his body.

  Their clothes impeded her. She wanted him naked, to feel his flesh against hers, to have him suck her nipples, cradle her breasts, scrape his fingers across her belly and hips and thighs.

  But all she could do was claw at his cursed tunic. Gouge his back through the rough material. And wrap her legs around his waist and suck him deep inside where time and place and tribal pride vaporized into primitive need.

  Harsh pants of approaching climax filled the impenetrable black. He could be anyone. But he was the Gaul. And the knowledge inflamed, as much as his increased thrusts, as much as the way he grasped her hair in one hand and her arse in the other.

  As much as the friction pounding between her thighs, riding her quivering pussy, teasing her to unreachable heights.

  He rammed into her, pain and pleasure indeterminable, and the breath rushed from her lungs at the force of his possession. Teeth sank into the damp curve where throat met shoulder, mouth hot and wet, a knife-edge of unbearable sensation stabbing straight through the heart of her being. Liquid fire raced through her clit, speared her womb and splintered deep in her gut as his guttural roar seared the air.

  He pumped into her, hot and endless, and she could scarcely move beneath his violent onslaught. Heart thundered; blood scalded and sanity quavered on the fiery precipice. And still he fucked her, as if he would never stop, and gods, she didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want this midnight magic to ever end.

  Molten spirals coiled deep inside, tightening muscles, skimming across skin. She tried to hold the moment, to savor it, prolong it, but it spilled from her unbidden.

  Echoes of her hoarse scream vibrated in her ears but she didn’t care what he thought, didn’t care that he’d know how desperately she craved this joining. Didn’t care about the past or the future or the fact he was her enemy. Because everything was in this moment and in this moment they were one.

  Chapter Eleven

  He collapsed on her, face buried against her neck. His body was hard and heavy and immovable. Crushing her bones, smothering her lungs.

  Strength gushed from her limbs and her legs slid from his back, falling to the bed, feeling oddly light and disconnected as if they didn’t belong to her. Only by twisting her fingers into the fabric of his tunic did she prevent her arms from following. Because it felt too good, too cursed satisfying, to hold him close and feel every erratic pant of breath, every rapid thud of his heart.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His short hair tickled the side of her face, and his day-old beard scraped the tender skin of her shoulder. He felt unlike any man she had ever known before.

  There had been no tender words. No artful seduction. Just rough, unpolished sex.

  Languid tremors flickered through her sated channel, still filled by his impressive length. She still couldn’t move her head, as his fingers were embedded in her hair, tangled around his fingers, and the sensation verged on pain.

  Pleasurable pain. Another languid ripple teased her sensitized flesh. If only we were naked.

  But she was too exhausted, too wondrously sated to voice her request. Time enough to see his body later. When dawn broke, before they needed to rise for another torturous day in the saddle.

  He rose, severing their contact, and a mewl of protest escaped before she could prevent it. He cupped her face in an oddly tender gesture, fingers trailing the length of her cheek before he rolled onto his back, fingers tugging her hair as he disengaged.

  She panted into the heated black. Sweat sli
cked her skin and her gown was unbearable but she couldn’t find the strength to strip. The musky scent of sex wafted in the air and his hot seed trickled between her spread thighs.

  Her eyelashes flickered as liquid satisfaction drifted through her veins. It had been a quick fuck, but she could find no fault with the outcome. Doubtless that was because it had been so long since she’d found release, but gods, the deprivation had been worth it for such savage pleasure.

  Again the smile tugged at her lips and slumber beckoned. Next time the Gaul would learn that when it came to such matters, she liked to take charge. And there would be a next time. They wouldn’t reach Camulodunon for another day or two at least, and then surely they would stay a night in the town. Plenty of time for plenty of pleasuring.

  A soft sigh escaped and she slipped further along the path to oblivion. And only then did the discordant thought whisper through her mind.

  I enjoyed this only as a means of debasing the Morrigan.

  ***

  Bren stirred as the first fingers of dawn eased into the room, and for a moment confusion bathed his mind. When was the last time he’d felt so relaxed, so well rested? So uncharacteristically tranquil?

  Dark fragments of memory tumbled into place and he cracked open one eye. Morwyn was asleep beside him, tangled hair framing her face, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted.

  Desire tugged deep in his groin. Stealthily, so as not to awaken her and have to face harsh reality, he rose onto his elbow.

  She looked so peaceful when asleep. No one would guess she possessed a tongue incapable of remaining silent. Were he truly her enemy, he would have ripped the offending flesh from her mouth for voicing nothing but treason from the moment they’d met.

  An odd sensation stabbed through his chest. She had to learn caution. Learn how to hide the fire in her eyes, the hate in her heart. Know that sometimes the truth could get you killed.

  His gaze drifted over her disheveled hair and rumpled gown. Lingered on the mark of possession he’d branded her with during the night, and the desire clawed deeper into his gut.

  In the heated black, she’d welcomed him. But only because she had been half-asleep and half-petrified from her nightmare. And only because, in that disconnected moment of time, she’d imagined he was Gawain.

  Gawain. The name scraped along his nerve endings. It was a commonplace name. It didn’t mean the Gawain he’d once encountered was the same man Morwyn dreamed of. The man she’d imagined she was loving during the night.

  He was under no illusions that once she was fully conscious, she’d spit in his eye rather than allow him to enjoy her again. Slowly he peeled the sheet from her legs. Her gown was twisted around her waist, revealing naked thighs. His gaze snagged on the luscious curls of her pussy, at the glimpse of plump lips, the suggestion of fresh dampness.

  Chest tightened, lungs constricted. He could have her one more time before facing her fury. Lose himself in her sweet heat, hear her throaty moans of pleasure as he filled her. And maybe, once again, he’d momentarily forget the evil soaking his soul.

  He trailed his fingers over the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. She stirred, legs parting farther in silent invitation, and he took advantage of her vulnerability.

  Sliding into her tangled curls, the scent of primal sex and sated lust drifted in the air. She was wet already, her arousal evident, and he drew in a deep breath, savoring her erotic essence.

  Gently he caressed the hood of her clitoris, using her juices as lubrication, fascinated by how readily her body responded to his touch. Again she stirred, angling her hips toward him, her breath noticeably ragged. Somehow he tore his gaze from her glistening pussy to look at her face. She was still asleep, lips still parted. Dreaming, doubtless, of her absent lover.

  The notion jarred. Rising, he moved between her thighs and used his knees to spread her farther for his visual delight. Pink flesh tantalized and he swallowed a groan, unwilling to wake her until he was inside her, until she was so mindless with lust she’d willingly accept their mutual completion.

  He pulled at the loosened ties of her bodice with fingers that shook. Thank the gods she was still asleep and couldn’t observe such weakness. It was only because it had been so long since he’d lain with a woman . . . discounting last night.

  But last night had been swathed in velvet blackness, where they could be anyone. Now, when she opened her eyes, she would see the face of the man that caused her body to orgasm with abandoned delirium. And it wasn’t Gawain.

  Breath hissed between his teeth as he eased open her gown. The tightness of her bodice prevented complete exposure, but somehow it was infinitely erotic being able to allow only one full, creamy globe to escape its confines.

  Her luscious nipple beckoned, proud and erect, and he sucked the rosy berry into his mouth as he increased the pressure against her clit.

  Languid fingers trailed through his hair. She was close to waking, close to realizing who aroused her while she slept. He cupped her mound, slid a finger into her wet cleft, and knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

  Releasing her succulent nipple, he angled his weight on one arm so he could watch her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and he knew at any moment her eyes would open and desire would mutate into derision.

  But not yet. He nudged her entrance with the head of his cock. So hot. So wet. Blood thundered in his veins, pounded against his temples, and, gritting his teeth against the primal groan that threatened to escape, he surged into her welcoming channel.

  She contracted around him, strong and sure, ripples of pleasure that radiated along her sheath and across his straining shaft. Her body was so tight around him, an embrace so intimate the sensation of stretching her delicate flesh streaked along his invading cock and splintered his mind.

  Her eyelashes flickered and her unfocused gaze meshed with his, eyes darkening with rising desire. Slowly he dragged his hand from between her thighs, over her hip, and pinched her nipple between thumb and finger. She sucked in a shocked gasp and her eyes glittered, but before she could give voice to the scalding words tumbling on her lips, he claimed her in an openmouthed kiss.

  Swallowing her words of condemnation. Exploring the heat of her mouth, challenging her tongue for dominance, overriding her loathing with lust.

  Her heels smashed into his arse, jerking him farther into her body, and a strangled groan filled his mind and rumbled along his throat. Her teeth sank into his tongue and pain throbbed, harshly arousing. She clawed the back of his neck, gouged his flesh, before releasing his tongue and tearing into the skin of his inner lip.

  The metallic taste of blood swept through his senses, tensing his muscles. Intoxicating. Like nothing he’d experienced before. Yet like everything he’d wanted before.

  He ripped his bloodied mouth from her, and panted into her flushed face. She didn’t look away. Didn’t condemn him. Without breaking eye contact the tip of her tongue licked a drop of his blood from her lip. And then she swallowed.

  It was blatantly provocative. As potent as any of his most lascivious fantasies. Need pounded along his cock and wrapped merciless fingers around his iron-hard balls. Breath gusted and he clung grimly to the edge of sanity. He would prolong this moment. Stoke their passion. Fuck her until all thought of vengeance incinerated within her mind. Until no man existed but him.

  “Stop thinking, Gaul.” Her voice rasped in the sex-drenched air, and she followed her words by wrapping her legs around his waist in a brutal vise.

  But he was beyond thinking. Couldn’t even form the words to respond to her taunt, because she clenched her muscles around him in a grip so tight stars exploded behind his eyes.

  “Fuck.” The tortured word fell from his lips as he struggled to maintain control. But control slipped from his grasp because the only grasp his mind could comprehend was the one Morwyn controlled around his throbbing cock.

  “Yes.” She dug her fingers into his scalp. “That’s right, Gaul.”

  Involun
tarily he rammed into her, unable to stop the primal imperative scorching his blood, erasing his reason. There was only this woman beneath him. This woman’s heat engulfing him. Consuming him.

  He braced his weight on both hands, to give better leverage. She gasped as he changed the angle of his penetration and her hands slipped from his head, slid over his back and gripped his backside. Gods, he couldn’t hold on. He couldn’t—

  Her finger delved into his crevice and even the most basic of thought processes shattered. Sensation flooded through his body, radiating from his tight balls, thundering along his rigid shaft, hammering her to the mattress with every mindless, ecstatic thrust.

  Dimly, beyond the pounding beat of his heart and blood, beyond the exquisite release pumping from his cock, he heard Morwyn’s choked gasps. Felt her nails score his backside, her legs clamp even more firmly around him.

  Felt her climax splinter through her as if it were his own, an indescribable melding of scorching heat and tangled limbs.

  Completion.

  This time he didn’t collapse onto her. This time he panted into her face as delicious spasms, the uninhibited aftereffects of her orgasm, claimed her.

  Claimed him.

  And in that moment a rare certainty formed in his mind. This was more than a simple, fleeting fuck. More than a casual slaking of lust. Languid heat slid through his veins, bathed his thoughts, and cradled his battered soul.

  She looked up at him, eyes regaining focus. Instinctively he tensed, and the illusory moment of peace, of somehow belonging, shattered. Wrenching his barriers back in place, he waited for her venom. Her denials.

  “And a good morn to you too, Gaul.” Her voice was ragged. Her words unexpectedly civil. His eyes narrowed, waiting for the punch. Waiting for her to realize who it was invading her body. Who had brought her such abandoned pleasure.

  Instead her fingers trailed a languid path down his thighs, and against his better inclinations his cock appreciated the gesture. Morwyn smiled, as if his reaction was entirely satisfactory.